


The Devil's Right Hand Man

by Rirren



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: spnkink_meme, Demons, Hand Jobs, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rirren/pseuds/Rirren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brady's gone off the rails and Sam is at his wit's end. Turns out taking a more domineering approach might work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Right Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/83218.html?thread=30915858#t30915858) SPN Kink Meme prompt.  
> Thank you balder12 for alpha reading and thank you novakev & flawlessglitch for fantastic betaing!

Sam stared down at the dirty dishes in the sink, his fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. The television blared in the background: canned laughter and chattering voices. He splayed his hand over his brow, pressing hard to try to stave off a headache. And then Brady let out a braying laugh and suddenly Sam couldn't stand it anymore.

He threw the dishcloth to the side and took a deep breath, before walking out into the tiny apartment's living room. Brady was lying on the couch, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing all week, staring with glassy eyes at the TV screen. His eyes were red-rimmed, his blond hair was dark with grease, and his face had the beginnings of a scruffy beard. It was a few seconds before he noticed Sam.

"Sam!" he said, looking up. "Sit down! And leave the dishes, we can just buy more paper plates."

"Did you go to classes today?" Sam demanded, not moving.

"I went yesterday," he shrugged, with a stupid lazy smile.

"And _today?_ " 

"I needed a break, okay? Everyone needs time to relax, and there was this guy on campus with some _really_ good stuff—"

 _He was like a fucking child._ "You need to pass these classes!"

"Whatever." Brady rolled his eyes, looking back at the TV, and that was when Sam snapped.

He strode over to the TV, switched it off at the box, and grabbed the remote from the couch, throwing it out of Brady's reach when he protested. Brady sat up, his eyes alight with something that looked more like excitement than anger.

"You're not failing this course; I'm not letting you! Go take a shower!" 

"You gonna make me?" 

Sam sprung forward and grabbed Brady by the arm, wrenching him to his feet and pulling him across the room. Surprisingly, Brady went willingly, stumbling along and laughing. Sam shoved him into the bathroom; Brady tripped, caught himself on the wall and turned around.

"Shower and shave," said Sam, his voice tight. "We'll talk when you get out."

He shut the door on Brady's flushed, smirking face, and marched into the kitchen, picking up the crap Brady had left on the floor with jerky movements. The shower started running while he threw the dirty clothes into the laundry bag, and his anger drained away with the sound of the running water. 

Everyone in their group of friends had given up on Brady, driven away by caustic remarks and cruel humor. It was only Sam who still tried. This was the first friend he'd made at Stanford, the guy who'd taken Sam under his wing and helped him fit in. He was his _best friend_. Or … he had been. Sam barely recognized him now.

Sam had just finished washing the last dish when the bathroom door opened, letting out a cloud of steam. He walked out into the hallway; Brady was standing in the doorway, towel wrapped around his waist, head bowed with water dripping from his hair.

"Brady..." Sam sighed. "Come on, you need to get yourself together."

He grabbed an extra towel from the bathroom and led his silent friend to the couch. He sat down next to him and started drying Brady's hair with the towel, rubbing a little rougher than he should. Brady took the ministrations with a scowl but kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

"We're gonna fix this, okay?" said Sam. "We'll stay in the library this weekend, and talk to your professors on Monday, they're gonna understa—"

"College isn't everything, Sam," Brady interrupted, tilting his head and looking up at Sam from under his messy blond hair. "It's making you soft. You're missing out on the real world—danger and adrenaline, and _power_. You can't get that from these pansy-ass college kids." 

Sam let the towel drop, and rubbed his forehead, sick of hearing Brady's rants about college. "I came here because I wanted to study. That's what you wanted to do as well!"

Brady shook his head. "Not anymore. My eyes were opened. And you, you're wasting your potential here, there's so much more you can be."

"I _want_ to be here."

"And become a lawyer, a doctor, a professor?" Brady scoffed. "No, that's not what you're made for. That's not what I see when I look at you." Brady's voice dropped to a hush here, his eyes fixed on Sam. "I see a leader, Sam. Someone who should be followed and obeyed." 

Heat rose in Sam's cheeks, and he was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, of how the water from Brady's bare arm was soaking into his shirt. 

"So you think I should be President?" he asked, trying to laugh off the sudden serious atmosphere.

"Something like that," said Brady, with a slow smile. He slid one hand along the top of the couch, brushing against Sam's shoulder, and moved closer. Sam leaned away. 

"And—and what would you do?"

"I'd be your right hand man." Brady's other hand came to rest lightly on Sam's thigh. "If you'd let me."

 _Was Brady messing with him?_ Maybe Sam should move away, but the way Brady was looking at him—that hint of something in Brady's eyes that Sam had always hoped would be returned—he didn't want to. He slowly reached out his hand, feeling curiously light-headed, and stroked along Brady's shoulder to rest against his neck. Brady was still, waiting for some move from him, and that was what pushed Sam past his hesitation. He surged forward and captured Brady's lips in a kiss. Brady responded straight away, and Sam tightened his grip on Brady's shoulder in shock.

He pulled away for a second to say breathlessly, "But I thought—I thought you were straight—" 

Brady slid his hands under Sam's shirt, making Sam gasp, and said, "Nah, I was just an idiot who didn't appreciate what I had."

Brady pushed the shirt up further to Sam's armpits, and then pulled it off quickly when Sam raised his arms. A hand was at the button of Sam's jeans straight away, Brady's mouth pressing hot, sucking kisses to his collarbone. Sam lifted his hips and helped kick off his jeans and boxers, urged along by Brady's enthusiasm. It was so fast that Sam could barely grasp what was happening and before he knew it, he was naked and so was Brady, sitting astride his left leg.

"Wait, Brady—" he said, but broke off when Brady licked a stripe up his neck and grabbed his earlobe gently between his teeth.

"That feel good?" Brady whispered, breathing hot air in his ear. "I'll make you feel so good, I'll do anything you want, I just want to touch you, _worship_ you."

His hand snuck down and grabbed Sam's half hard cock in a warm, firm grip, making Sam cry out and thrust up, his free leg curling up around Brady's torso to pull him closer. He scrabbled to touch Brady, twisting his head to slam their mouths together in a bruising kiss, and turned them over, desperate to get on top of Brady and make _him_ moan— 

They hit the ground hard, Brady's head smacking against the wooden floor as they fell off the couch.

"Shit! Shit, Brady, you okay?" Sam sat up, his heart in his throat, touching Brady's head gently to feel if he was bleeding.

Brady just laughed. "Fuck, Sam, you don't need to knock me unconscious to get me on my back."

Sam exhaled in relief, dropping his head onto Brady's chest as his heart beat slowed to a more normal pace. Brady threaded his fingers through Sam's hair, and wriggled his toes against Sam's thigh.

"You can have me like this if you want me," he said. "But personally ... I wanna suck you off." Sam's breath caught. "That sound good?"

"Fuck yeah," Sam breathed. 

"C'mon then," said Brady, pushing himself up.

He led Sam down the corridor into Sam's bedroom. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging Brady down and nipping at his neck. Brady groaned and grabbed Sam's hair, kissing him fiercely, before pushing Sam down and straddling him, stroking his chest.

"Perfect," he whispered, staring down at Sam. "Your body's perfect."

Sam shivered. He'd never been stared at like that before, like the other person couldn't believe they were touching him, like he was someone the other person had desperately wanted and couldn't believe they'd managed to claim. But that was exactly how Sam felt looking at Brady. He'd tried going out on a few dates since starting college but the longest he'd managed was one month, and no-one had really clicked. He hadn't felt that instant connection with anyone except the first friend he'd made here. But there'd been nothing back from Brady and he'd settled for being friends. And now that he had Brady, his mind couldn't accept that it was real, kept expecting he would wake up to find he had been dreaming.

Brady slid down, pressing wide, wet kisses on Sam's chest and sucking at the skin, and Sam shifted, the sensual touches lighting up his nerves and driving him mad with want. He reached out, grabbing Brady's hair and trying to push him down, get those wonderful lips around his cock.

Brady groaned, "That's it. Make me, please, master."

Sam tightened his grip on Brady's hair in surprise—at Brady being into that stuff but also at how that word made his arousal jump up a notch. He pushed Brady down, lifting his hips as he muttered, "Come on."

He felt lips touch his cock a second later in a soft kiss, and he jerked upwards, growling when Brady pulled away, swirling his tongue around the head and flicking against the slit—teasing licks that couldn't satisfy. Sam tugged on Brady's hair in frustration, almost tearing out the strands at the root.

Then beautiful warmth enveloped his cock. Sam groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, taken by surprise at the sudden shock of pleasure. Brady took him all the way down to the base with no hesitation, like it was nothing. The tip of his cock bumped against what had to be the back of Brady's throat and Sam opened his eyes, looked down, and thrust upward involuntarily at the sight of Brady's mouth stretched wide around him. Brady's eyes locked on Sam as he started up a gentle suction and started bobbing his head, dragging his tongue along the sensitive skin on the underside of Sam's dick as he set up a rhythm. 

Brady's hands caressed his hips, finding erogenous zones that Sam hadn't even known he had, igniting tingling sensations that just accentuated the focus of the pleasure, which Brady was sucking out of him, along with his mind, because he could barely think with this going on. His breath grew uneven and he jolted up into that warmth when Brady cupped his balls and gently rolled them, and it felt even better like that, when he was the one controlling it. He tightened his fingers in Brady's hair and held him still, fucking up into his mouth in increasingly violent thrusts as the pleasure pooling in his belly grew more urgent.

Brady was giving Sam this power over him, letting Sam do what he wanted with him, and it was those thoughts that sent Sam over the edge, crying out as he came into that welcoming warmth, his pleasure being wrung out by the contractions of Brady's throat as he swallowed him down.

Sam's hands dropped away, his body limp as it rode the aftershocks. He felt hands stroke along his torso and he opened his eyes to see Brady climbing up on him, kissing him and pulling his hand down to Brady's erection.

"Sam, touch me, master, please, I just need to—"

Sam slid his arms around Brady, one hand resting on Brady's hips and going no further down, just letting Brady buck against him before he gripped him and rolled them both over. He held Brady down with one hand on his chest, thrilling at Brady submitted so easily. He paused a few seconds to take in how desperate Brady looked—his hair sticking to his face with sweat, undone and vulnerable in a way Sam had never seen—before he touched Brady; it only taking a few rough jerks before Brady was crying out Sam's name and spilling into his hands.

Sam sat back on the bed, a little shaky, his mind replaying the same stupid excited thoughts—he'd just had _sex_ , Brady _liked_ him. He looked over at Brady, who was lying still on the bed, eyes closed while he caught his breath. 

"So … you're into that roleplaying stuff?" Sam broke the silence. "We could try that."

Brady's eyes snapped open and he grinned. "Fuck _yeah_."


End file.
